Cross of Gold
by Niamhgold
Summary: A certain vigilante group starts organizing. Some of the history behind Xanatos. And was does a tenth century coin have to do with a wicked little elf?


CROSS OF GOLD  
By Niamhgold at niamhgold@hotmail.com  
  
  
Okay, I know, this story was originally called "A Fool's Pot of Gold,"  
but after hearing the speech by William Jennings Bryan, I figured that   
"Cross of Gold" was a _much_ better, and descriptive, title.  
  
It seemed to me that maybe the most neglected part of the fanfic   
universe was the existence of Xanatos's tenth century coin. What's its   
history? Who bought it from Xanatos? And how has it influenced other lives?   
This is It's story. Well, partly It's story. This also involves the untimely   
first steps to the organization of a certain vigilante group (can you guess),   
a little of Xanatos's history, a few new characters, and it deals with   
Hudson a little bit. So maybe I should put this:  
  
WARNING: This story is jam-packed with information that will probably   
be quite prominent in upcoming fanfics, and tends to get a little confusing  
because of all the flashbacks. But I think you might find it to be   
enlightening. Also, some mature situations and language.  
  
You can all be quite sure that the inspiration for this story came after  
eating 13 slices of Pizza Hauss's jalapeno-and-onion pizza (Hey, don't laugh!   
It's damn good food!) I was going to make this a St. Patrick's day treat,  
but SATs kind of got in the way.  
  
Thanks to all of you who have been reading my other fanfics. And I   
just love getting E-mail, whether it is a complement, a criticism, or just   
plain comments. You should probably read my past fanfics, "...Of Things to   
Come" and "The Full Bounty" to get an idea of what's going on.  
  
And, for those of you in the front who aren't snoring _yet_...  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Gargoyles, no siree, but Disney and Buena   
Vista do. They own all of Gargoyles's characters and the show itself. I   
do, however, lay claim to the characters I created, and I claim them with  
a four-foot stake. If you have any desire to use my characters, just give   
me a buzz at niamhgold@hotmail.com and I'll pretty much just say yes (unless  
you have awful, sick plans in store for them). The reference to Scrooge   
McDuck is upon no infringement of the Disney Company, but he is their  
character. And thanks to my friend Brian who let me use his last name   
for the French count. I am not making any money off of this.   
  
Sources to give credit to:  
  
_Celtic Myths & Legends_, by Charles Squire. Published by Portland  
House in 1997.  
  
"The Great Gadsby." I borrowed one of the lines; see if you can find   
it! (Hint: Fox says it)  
  
Okay, now...(*wipes sweat off fingertips and bites down on left side   
of tongue*)...let's see what I can do here....  
  
============================================================================  
  
PREVIOUSLY, ON _GARGOYLES_:  
  
_Petros Xanatos_: "You would've been better off as a poor fisherman   
like me. If I ever get my hands on the man who sent you that coin,   
I'll teach him not to meddle with my family...You didn't earn any of it."  
  
*  
  
_Petros Xanatos_: "What are you hatching now?"  
  
_Xanatos_: "This envelope contains 2 further sealed envelopes and   
instructions for the Illuminati to wait a thousand years and then  
deliver the first to a young David Xanatos of Bar Harbor, Maine. It   
contains one of Malcolm's coins, almost worthless now, but in 1975   
worth about twenty grand. So you see, Pop? I am indeed a self-made man."  
  
______** VOWS **_______  
  
_Goliath_: "The Scotsmen called them the Fair Folk. The Vikings called  
them the Dark Elves..."  
  
_Elisa_: "Wait, wait. Fairies, elves, shapeshifters...you mean they're  
real?"  
  
_Hudson_: "As real as I am, if the stories be true."  
  
_____** THE MIRROR **______  
  
_Goliath_: "Are we in Ireland, then? The Bean-Sidhe were of Ireland,  
in ancient times."  
  
____** THE HOUND OF ULSTER **____  
  
With one last look into the street, he started the ignition and pulled  
away from the curb, driving into the retreating darkness of the west   
to meet with a couple friends.  
  
_____** ...OF THINGS TO COME **____  
  
_Lingstrum Bailey_: "Hmmm...I heard ya tried to get successful off   
Cyberbiotics. Seems ya were arrested--is that right?--for trying to   
get away with their property. It was amazing to hear they let you   
return to work afterwards."  
  
_Xanatos_: "Yes, well, I can't be as good as the best. Because, as  
I recall, _you_ got away with the goods."  
  
*  
  
Six years at MIT, a brief partnership with Cyberbiotics, and a lifetime  
contract with Cornerstone Technologies still hadn't put him on equal   
standing with a fisherman becoming successful off a tenth-century coin.  
  
_____** THE FULL BOUNTY **_____  
  
============================================================================  
  
"You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns,  
you shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold!"   
  
--"Cross of Gold" speech by William Jennings Bryan   
Chicago Democratic National Convention of 1896  
  
============================================================================  
  
(And the curtain rises...)  
  
============================================================================  
  
_______ CROSS OF GOLD _______  
  
*****************************************************************************  
  
PROLOGUE:  
  
Scotland, 927 A.D.  
  
A spray of crystal-clear water arced into the air, and then fell with  
a splash on the opposite side of the bank. Angus's horse galloped across the   
shallow stream and came to a stop on the other side, and another horse, short  
and piebald, soon followed. This rider reigned his animal to a halt next to   
Angus, and he wiped his brow.  
  
"I was ne'er meant te be a horseman," he admitted, drawing a silken   
cloth from a pouch on his crude belt. He patted his sweaty neck with it.  
  
Angus dismounted and laughed. "Well, Ye nay supposed te be that large!   
I swear, Melany has ye fattening for some feast! Ye need some fun, Tristan."  
  
"In the middle of the night? I don't remember that bein' the   
definition of fun." He jumped off his horse, as well, but stumbled and fell   
on his rump.  
  
"Probably because ye've been drinkin' too much," Angus retorted, helping  
his friend up. The two looked about their surroundings.  
  
The moon was a silvery blue, unique to the midsummer's night.  
The two night riders had traveled to the center of a great field of waving  
grass and low, leafy trees, and were far from the bogs that muddied their   
hometown. Not another soul was in sight.  
  
Tristan collapsed beneath a twisted tree trunk and closed his   
eyes. He breathed heavily of the meadow's scent. "Ah, 'tis a fair night te  
be out, though. Me bairn's been fussy lately, and Melany thought it would   
be good if I got some flowers for the home." He plucked at a vine of   
yellow blooms growing on the tree bark beside him. "These should do nicely."  
  
Angus watched his companion fiddle with the plant life for a moment,  
and his eyes widened as the vine was slowly tugged away from the base of the  
tree. Something gold shimmered.  
  
"What's that?" Angus asked out loud, approaching the oak.   
  
"What's what?" Tristan looked curiously at Angus's stare.  
  
Angus bent over, golden-brown hair tumbling over his shoulder, to   
poke at the soil around the tree. The yellow shimmer had gone, but he was  
sure of what he had seen.   
  
Finally, fingernails dirtied by the moist soil, he felt it.  
And as if sensing his discovery, a breeze broke into the meadow, swaying   
the tree's branches so that the bright moonlight could filter down upon the  
two Scotsmen. They gasped. There, tucked under and between two of the  
tree's roots, was a delicately-crafted pot. And, within the pot...  
  
"By the Heavens, gold!" Angus exclaimed. He hastily pulled out  
his knife, made short work of the tree roots, and hefted the pot into the  
air.  
  
"There must be hundreds of them in there!" his friend added, taking   
a generous handful. "Some are gold, others are somethin' else, but still..."  
  
The two suddenly exchanged careful glances.  
  
"Ye don't think..." Angus whispered, not moving. His eyes darted   
around anxiously, as if expecting something.  
  
"Nay. 'Tis probably a Viking's hoard, stolen from some conquered  
town. It's just legend, and there were no signs..."  
  
Angus waited another moment, baitedly, then exhaled and chuckled.  
"Aye, youi're right!" He packed two handfuls into his pouch, leaving the other  
half of the find for Tristan. "Come, let us get back te ouir houses.  
Perhaps ye can finally get Melany the wagon she's been pinin' for, now, aye?"  
  
"Aye!" His friend agreed happily, and the two were quickly on their horses   
and away. The discarded crock, tossed aside in their hurry, rolled along  
the ground and stopped at the base of the tree.  
  
And the tree, quivering like Jell-O at the impact, withered, melted,  
and disintegrated into a fine dust. The wind finally picked that up and   
sprinkled it into oblivion.   
  
An owl, jostled into the air by the disappearance of his home,   
screeched and took to the eastern horizon.  
  
*****************************************************************************  
  
Manhattan, March, 1999 A.D.  
  
Hudson arched his back and shook off what remained of that day's  
stone slumber, then yawned to the clouds. He only offered a slight smile  
as the rumbling growl echoed across the castle towers.  
  
"Hey Hudson! Great night, huh?" Lexington greeted as soon as the  
old soldier turned around. "I mean, this takes the cake!"  
  
Hudson craned his head in order to look out over the crystal-clear   
view of Manhattan's lights. "Aye, so it be. But so have the last three   
nights, lad. What makes this one...'take the cake?'"  
  
Lexington shuffled from one foot to the other nervously. Making sure  
that the others weren't listening, he replied, "Well, uh, because it's a good  
night to go flying, that's all."  
  
"Lad, what do ye want?" Hudson sighed, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Well, last night I logged onto this really cool website and they  
were having this contest for this new laptop that comes complete with a   
Snappy, modem, stereo hookup, CD Rom, but the best part is that the grand   
prize winner also gets to author a weekly column on the site--"  
  
"Breathe, lad!" the elder huffed.  
  
"--Oh, right! So I can only win it by designing their new web page and  
the deadline is tomorrow. I was hoping that maybe instead of patrolling   
tonight I could spend my time finishing it up, but I knew Goliath wouldn't  
hear of it, and Angela needed a break for tonight, and..."  
  
"...I was the only one doin' nary a thin'? Aye, Lexington, I see   
what ye be getting at."  
  
Lexington broke out into a pleading grin, and his shuffling turned into  
bouncing. "Please Hudson, please! I'll make up for it later, I swear!"   
  
Hudson stroked his beard, pretending to debate the notion, but then   
laughed. "Alright, lad, I'll patrol for ye. With the exception that ye   
tape Letterman for me."  
  
"THANKS!" Lex hugged Hudson briefly, then went bounding down the   
stairwell to his computer.  
  
Hudson sighed, recalling the vigor of lost youth. He stretched and  
grimaced. Ah, to be young again!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
March 18th, Momma's Hut  
  
There was a knock on his door, an urgent one, and followed by a   
voice that he was surprised at hearing again. He paused, debating whether to   
open it or not, but the knocks became louder. He threw down his pictures,   
grabbed his Colt, and stalked to the door.  
  
"Alright, alright!" he whispered. He unlatched the chain and flung open  
the door, unhappily recognizing the dark figure beyond the entrance.  
Both stood there a moment, crossing their arms, until Titus spoke.   
"How did you find me?!"  
  
The other smiled, oddly, and uncharacteristically. "Titus, it's not  
too hard to find you, going incognito as a salesman. My sources say you're  
not even carrying any merchandise."  
  
"Sources? Since when do you have sources?!" He invited his "guest"  
in, sat him down at a table.  
  
The visitor shook his head as he was offered a bottle of Budweiser and   
instead motioned to a half-empty vodka bottle.   
  
Titus raised an eyebrow. "And now you've taken to hard liquor, too?"   
he commented as he went to fetch the drinks. "Explain your reason for being  
here, and maybe I won't poison this stuff."  
  
The dark man chuckled. "Let's just say a lot of change has overcome   
my family, drastic ones. I want heavy artillery, Tye. I won't lie to you--  
what I'm planning is going to involve killing anyone in the way of my cause."  
  
Titus was uncorking the Vodka when he heard that. "This from the   
same guy who wouldn't shoot a dummy on the training grounds? You've got   
to be fucking with me, JC."  
  
His visitor's expression drastically changed. "No jokes, no lies.   
This time, I will have blood for blood! And as much as I despise saying  
this, I need you to help me!"  
  
Titus eyed "JC" oddly for a moment, regarding the now bristling intruder.  
With one decisive crunch, Titus slammed the shot glass back into the cupboard   
and put away the drinks.   
  
"That's it," he hissed, spinning on his feet. "I can stand you barging  
into my hideout, I can stand you interrupting my new job. But I cannot,   
fucking _will not_, stand you coming in here and bossing me around with your  
cocky, son-of-a-bitch attitude!"   
  
"You've got a one-track mind, Titus. I don't want to hear another  
lecture on our differences..."  
  
"Differences? Clinton and Hillary have 'differences!' What we have is  
the absolute inability to work together! If it wasn't for your determined   
brother, I would have beaten the snot out of you long ago! You were jealous   
of my influence on him and your sister. You didn't believe in the 'violence'  
of destroying the gargoyles, but it was _you_ who sent me away with the   
force of a shotgun. And now, after losing your family's pay, I've been   
scraping up these damn assassination assignments--" he picked up the pile of   
photographs and shoved them in JC's face, "So don't think you can bust in here  
and give me B.S. and still expect me to bend to your will. You're one   
pathetic coward!"   
  
The same, sniveling JC he had described, however, jumped up out of   
his seat in the blink of the eye and had Titus pinned up against the wall,  
a laser rifle at his jaw. "Ye've no idea what I've been through! And perhaps  
I should prove to ye just how little of a coward I am!"   
  
Tye, with his professional training, bent JC's rifle-holding arm at   
an unnatural angle. The two were on the floor in a minute, tackling with the  
intent to kill, but JC's attempts were mirrored and bettered by Titus. Soon   
the task of one defeating the other became impossible, and they rolled apart   
into two heaving forms.  
  
JC panted and wiped blood from his lip. He stared at it for a moment,  
then wiped it on his shirt. "Reminds me of old times," he commented  
dryly, after both were calm.  
  
Titus leaned up against a wall, head tipped back and arms sporting   
bruises. He laughed, a chuckling, hoarse bark. "Yeah. I can still beat   
you at a good fight, but not as easily as before. Been practicing?"  
  
"I suppose you could say that," came the not-so-humored reply. "I   
won't lie to you--things have changed. I need your help. Jason was right  
about everything, about them, about the need for you."  
  
Things turned serious again. "I heard it all on the news. Him being  
paralyzed, your sister in jail. Not that I care, but what exactly did you  
have me in mind for?"  
  
The blond guest sat up straighter, gleaming a fierce smile. "I'm   
taking up the cause, you know, and I need your help. Weapons, and a man   
who can rile the best followers. And as you know, I'm not the best at   
making new friends." He picked a stray crust of blood from his nose. "I need  
manpower. It's the only way to exterminate my enemies."  
  
"Your brother asked for the same thing, you know. But he was serious.  
How can I believe that you have a devotion as strong as his?"  
  
"Because of the money, if you forgot the family's nest egg. I can pay   
everyone you hire, including you, double what you make now. Plus you get to  
keep all the weapons."  
  
Titus considered this for a moment, then thrust out his hand. "You've  
got yourself a deal...and a partner."  
  
"Partner? I had figured this a one-man..."  
  
"You want me to help, you make me partner. The only way I work is if  
I know a hundred percent of what's going on. Your brother understood that."   
  
"Very well." JC stood up and scribbled an address on a slip of paper.  
"Meet me at this address in three weeks with as many people as possible.   
I want all of Manhattan to know the evil of the gargoyles!"   
  
Titus walked his guest to the door and was just about to close it   
when he thought of something. "Jon?" he asked, catching the blond man's   
attention. "You came barging in here, knowing exactly how much I hated you.  
What would you have done if I had just shot you through the heart?" He pointed  
the automatic pistol at his waist.  
  
Jon turned and put a hand on his shoulder, then unzipped his dark   
jacket to reveal thick, red-black armor beneath. "Because a Canmore trusts  
no one but family."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *   
  
1575, Chateau in France  
  
The lords and ladies all bowed their goodnights, trails of gold and  
silver and lovely blue silk fanning from the maids' bustles. Lord Brodreau  
watched them go with a twinge of regret, then retired to his own chambers.  
The parchment he had been given rested safely in the breast pocket of his   
button coat, rustling with every stair he surmounted.  
  
It had taken a few weeks, but the spoils from the plundered castles  
in Ireland had finally been turned over to him. That booty, plus the new   
responsibility he had been given by his fellow Illuminatis, pleased him  
to no end.   
  
He put the envelope down on the table in his room and pulled off his  
suffocating garments. Then he proceeded to take his pouch of loot to the   
ground vault before he laid himself down in bed. He blew out the lights,  
hearing the wind grope the castle walls.  
  
Minutes later, he heard the hounds yelp. Their strangled, panicked  
howls drove the Lord angrily out of bed; he had forgotten he had sent the  
guards away. Rolling out of bed to put on a satin overcoat, the dark-haired  
nobleman grabbed a torch and went to see what the problem was.  
  
The trouble was that someone had slipped in through the second   
floor windows, leaving a trail of shredded tapestries behind. Brodreau  
looked out from the window to the ground, where the bassets had gathered,   
having lost their scent. There were no signs that the intruder had scaled the  
terrace. Confused, Brodreau turned to a set of muddy footprints leading down t  
the hall to his vaults.  
  
Ready to defend his fortune, the lord followed the tracks to his   
secret repository. There, he found everything in shambles, and his  
newly-acquired collection gone! With a sickening lurch, he realized he had   
a pillager on the prowl, and was even more sickened when he remembered that   
he had left his important envelope unprotected in his chambers.  
  
Running back up to his room, Lord Brodreau again found the footprints...  
as well as someone quite short, stout, red haired, and _green_.   
  
"You, there!" he called to the hurrying little form. "Stop!"  
  
The figure froze, stopped, and turned. It raised its hands up in   
a slightly threatening manner, as if preparing to cast something, but nothing  
happened. It hung its head and gurgled in frustration, looked once more at the   
doors that led to Brodreau's quarters and the parchment, and then shook its  
head.  
  
Brodreau blinked and dove for the intruder, but it _dissipated_ before  
contact. He hit the rug and grunted.   
  
* * * * * * * *   
  
Manhattan, Present Day  
  
"Hey, Hudson, on your way out?"   
  
The gray-brown elder looked up from the ground and faced a particularly  
bright Fox. This was something new; Alex had been keeping the ex-ninja  
awake and stressed as of late.   
  
"Aye, lass. I'm taking over Lexington's patrol." He put his hands on  
his hips, indicating he was just as uncomfortable to be around her as Goliath  
was to be around Xanatos.   
  
"Lex is turning out to be a little con artist," she laughed, tossing her hair  
over one shoulder. Her eyes sparkled as she turned away to her quarters, but  
her manner remained cool, her trademark. "Have fun, Hudson."  
  
He watched her go with a slightly bewildered expression, then shook  
his head and continued walking in the other direction, for the stairs.   
It seemed that females were still as unpredictable these days as they were   
during the days of Prince Malcolm; for this, he wasn't sure if he should be   
relieved or worried.  
  
* * * *   
  
David was reclining at the mahogany desk of his study. This was a   
room the gargoyles weren't aware of, for it was located in the sub-castle   
levels and could only be accessed by a secret doorway located in the Xanatos's  
bedroom. It was rumored to have been the Archmage's hideaway.   
  
He leaned back in his chair and looked out the small, currently carved  
window, out to the beautiful view of the Empire State Building. It glowed   
extravagantly in the night, but was still overshadowed in magnificence by   
his own Eerie. Xanatos smiled and returned to his work; looking over the   
recent stock report from his broker.  
  
Xanatos Enterprises and all affiliated stocks were up higher than any  
other, making a swift recovery from the brief bull market decline the country  
had experienced over the past few months. Of course, with an ingenious pauper-  
turned-prince billionaire like David Xanatos, the stocks were in no real   
danger in the first place. Proof of his wealth was apparent not only in his  
indoor furnishings and lifestyle in households and businesses all across the   
globe. The Eyrie Building had towered over the long-dominant Empire in 1994 to   
become the largest in the world. As if that wasn't enough, the skyscraper   
came complete with an authentic tenth-century castle and a private protective   
guard.   
  
It didn't stop there. Since 1986 Xanatos Enterprises had been expanding  
its products from everyday items like vacuums and televisions to the newest   
in computer technology and medical research. David Xanatos, then and sometimes  
still regarded the most handsome rich buff in all the world, granted loans   
to every project available and invested in every potential moneymaker. Companies   
like Tylenol, Microsoft, Sony, TWA, Delta, Whirlpool, Netscape, and more are   
still indebted to him. Not to mention the fact that the billionaire had   
say in over 75,000 privately-owned divisions and associations, many   
consisting of genetic, medical, and technological research. In all, he   
employed over 1.5 billion people worldwide.  
  
David leaned back in his chair again and, after a pause, got up and   
walked to his bookshelf. He ran his fingers along the selections until he  
found a thick book with the title etched in the binding. He opened it to   
reveal that the inside pages had been hollowed out in order to hold a small,  
silver box.   
  
Xanatos opened that, as well, and patted the small object inside.   
This solitary thing, worth so little in its own time and yet more priceless  
to him than anything else in this century, was how he had managed to abandon  
his meaningless life as a lobsterman and become what he truly deserved.  
  
"David," the cool voice demanded from the doorway. He saw her robe   
flutter lightly in the draft from the open door to their bedroom, and   
appreciatively stared at her not-so-concealed form beneath. "You said you   
were coming to bed."  
  
He closed the book in his hands but she came up and grabbed it from   
him. Fox looked at the title and sighed. "Dammit, is there ever a night when  
you don't look at that thing?" she teased. "The name 'Scrooge McDuck' is   
becoming less and less of a metaphor."  
  
Xanatos laughed and put the book back in its rightful place. "Without   
that you'd have married a poor Mainer."  
  
"That's what you think. If it's one thing I ever learned from Daddy;  
rich girls don't marry poor boys."  
  
He crossed his arms, feigning hurt. "Fine. I'm sure you and   
Lingstrum would have made a happy couple."  
  
She harumphed and wrapped her arms around him, part of the robe   
falling open so that he could feel the warm skin beneath. "Let's go to bed,  
already," she said, more of a decision than a plea. "Alex is out with Owen.  
We haven't had sex in the longest time, and I'm not about to start being a   
camel." Fox pulled him into their room and tossed him on the bed, biting  
his ears. "David, let's get another plan into motion. I don't know, my   
father, our immortality, the gargoyles..."  
  
He swiftly reminded her of their promise to the clan, and for a moment the  
mood became quite tense. But after assessing her own need as well as the   
small amount of time they had left, she decided to let that difference in  
moral opinion slide. Fox hit the lights and slipped out of her robe.  
  
* * * * * * * * *   
  
1978, Bar Harbor, Maine  
  
He ran his hand over the hull, streaked with red paint that wasn't   
even chipping after ten years. He crossed his arms back behind his back and   
admired it strongly, shielding his eyes from the sun to gaze up at the deck.  
The smell of fish and sea salt was quite strong due to the westerly winds pushing  
it onshore. On board, men worked laboriously, pulling up and setting lobster  
traps.  
  
Footsteps resounded on the rickety planks, and Zachary Bailey turned  
to regard a gangly, dark-complexioned youth. The teenager had quite stately  
features, but they were marred by a mixture of sweat, ocean water, and dirt.  
He appeared just an ordinary farm boy, uncultured and unsophisticated.  
  
"Good morning, David!" he called, pushing his hands into his pockets and  
swaying on his feet.   
  
The boy, who had been lugging two huge pails of bait on both arms,  
looked up from the ground and squinted at the visitor. His face broke out into  
a sly grin.  
  
No, not an ordinary farm boy, and definitely not uncultured and   
unsophisticated. This one had something different, had a motivation and   
sensibility of business that was lost upon his father.  
  
David, shoulder-length hair twirled into a tight ponytail behind him,  
set down his load and strode confidently to Bailey. He was so nonchalant   
that it was hard to believe this was a sixteen year-old boy.  
  
"Morning, Mr. Bailey. I take it your meeting yesterday went  
well." He stuck out his hand and the two shook, as if they were equals in   
the business.  
  
Zachary nodded. "They gave us the whole three miles for our research."   
He turned and regarded the boat, then looked back at David. "Do you have my   
budget papers?"  
  
David nodded and dug them out of his overalls, unfolding them grandly.  
He pointed to where he had circled a few figures. "I went over them like you  
said, and I found a few possibilities. You can reduce this cost by donating   
half your findings to the Cancer Society, and you could rent your equipment   
out to them at a rate of 16 percent per annum. And you have more people   
manning the water stations than necessary; that can be cut by 25 percent."  
  
Bailey raised an eyebrow, took out a pair of glasses, and checked  
the kid's work. A few seconds later, he nodded impressively. "Good job.   
Genu-Biotics could use a man like you some day."  
  
"No, thank you, sir. I think I'd rather start my own business."  
  
Bailey sighed. "Oh, well, can't have everything. But while I'm   
here..." he fingered the huge schooner in back of him, titled the S.S.   
Theodora. "I was wondering if your father had reconsidered parting with  
this one."  
  
David's face darkened. "I don't know how he expects us to live like  
this. I told him you're offering eighty grand and he brushes it off like  
you're baiting two bits."  
  
"That's because, David T. Xanatos, the Theodora is _not_ for sale." A   
graying Petros Xanatos strolled off his boat. Even though he was wearing a   
leisure suit, anyone familiar with the area knew that the life of a Xanatos   
was anything but leisurely. "Now stop trying to sell _my_ property and put   
that bait in the freezer before it goes bad." Petros looked to Zachary and  
narrowed his eyes dangerously.  
  
The medical businessman just smiled. "I'm willing to give you a   
hundred thousand for it. It's sorely needed for our marine biology studies."  
  
David turned to his father anticipatingly, but the old man merely  
raised his hand, as if to push the offer away. "No, thanks. It's got   
personal value."   
  
"Pop, be reasonable. Money is money, and we could use it all. If  
you'd just let me work at things, I could get it deducted..."  
  
"We _do not_ need that money," Petros stated in a stern tone. "We're   
doing just fine. Of course, we might not be if you don't get back to work!"  
  
"We could be doing better." David continued rationally, irking his dad  
even more. "It's just your stubborn pride that won't let you sell the Theodora.   
Well, maybe you should stop thinking about yourself and think about me."  
  
"You?! I pay you for the work you do for me! When I was _my_ father's  
assistant, I didn't get paid a red cent!"  
  
Bailey interrupted. "Mr. Xanatos, if I might say...it's going to take   
a lot more than a fisherman's salary to send this kid to business school."  
  
That dropped between the father and son like lead. David looked undone,   
and momentarily met the stare of his reddened and shocked father. Bailey had   
forgotten that David had wanted to tell his old man at the right time, so he   
apologetically told the Xanatos's he'd see them later and quickly left the   
two alone. He was well aware that their quarrel had been an ongoing one.  
  
"Business school?" Petros repeated, in that kind of quiet anger that  
was far more dangerous than an outburst.  
  
"Yes, pop," David solidly replied. "Mr. Bailey says that with a   
college degree I'd make a fine corporate manager."  
  
"That's because Zachary Bailey is trying to pump you up so you'll be  
one of his underpaid, overworked slaves. My grandfather, your grandfather,   
me; we were and are all fisherman. We work our hands to the bone for a   
living while the _businessmen_ wring us dry." He shook the boy by the shoulders.   
"Don't you understand? They don't get where they are with their brains.   
They get there with inheritance and money. We have neither!"  
  
David wriggled free. "I'm going to get ahead, like Mom always told me.  
You may not believe that I can, but I assure you I'll find a way out of here.  
Even if I have to sell this damn boat myself." He kicked the hull angrily,   
grabbed his bait, and stalked onto the vessel.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Manhattan, Present Day  
  
The museum guard walked back and forth, checking the "Collected Treasures"  
exhibit. His flashlight jumped around from display to display like an anxious  
firefly. After a few moments of silence, he shook his head and left the room,  
arming the silent laser alarm. His footsteps receded down the hall, leaving  
the marbled room to itself.  
  
Another play of light danced across displays, flickering like a   
candle. Had not the guard with the flashlight already left, it would not have  
seemed so out of place. But its spectrum was of many colors that transgressed  
from red to purple. It jumped across the room and halted next to a glass  
case.  
  
The flame light melded into a deep grayish-brown color and began to   
take a solid shape. With a slight churning of both bone and magic, a small  
owl came into existence.   
  
It looked around with keen eyes and ears, head bobbing up and down,  
until it could see the thick lasers that were invisible to the human  
eye. It cautiously wove through the array of particle beams and scaled   
the glass display that had captured its attention. It pecked at the casing,  
creating a hole that was big enough for it reach its talons inside and pull   
out a pile of golden treasures.   
  
The owl observed the skylight above its head. With a launching motion  
that would have done any native gargoyle proud, it angled towards the window.  
And, seconds before it would have broken through the glass, the owl morphed  
into its fluid fairy-light physique and passed through like smoke.  
  
The creature followed its instinct back to where his master sat  
anxiously in the botanical gardens. The master looked up and jumped towards   
the once-again owl, holding his hands out eagerly. The bird dropped its   
treasures into the man's palms and perched on his shoulders.  
  
"Good work, good work," he praised, rubbing his pet's neck. He quickly  
rooted through the golden coins, inspecting each one individually and tossing   
aside the rejects.   
  
Soon, _all_ the coins were in the reject pile.  
  
Mider covered his eyes with his hands and sank to his knees. "It's   
not here! It's not here!" He swatted the owl off his shoulder. "You told  
me its scent was in there! It's not here!"  
  
* * * * * *   
  
1975, Bar Harbor, Maine  
  
"Mac, give me one more day. You trust me, you know I'm good for my   
word. It's just that some of my clients have been slow in paying--"  
  
David shut the door to his room, blocking out the sound of his father  
trying to buy time with the loan collector. The boat still hadn't been sold,  
and this was the result. They were going to end up in jail.  
  
He returned to the small makeshift desk he had arranged from a 3-by-2  
plank of wood and a pair of milk crates. Several papers were scattered about;   
two of which he was comparing for the lowest student loan rate and the other three   
dealt with stocks. Medical stocks were up, and the right investment could  
get him that college loan. Or maybe he could even skip college and just  
start his business from scratch.  
  
Yeah, right. And money just grows on trees.  
  
He tapped his pencil and heard the doorbell ring. His father answered  
it and called,   
  
"David, it's for you. Get down here!"  
  
David slowly got up from his desk and headed down the stairs. Part  
of his mind secretly wished it was one of the kids from high school, but he   
quickly pushed that notion aside. He wasn't very popular with the boys or  
girls; they were all too busy at their parties, anyway, and he had to _work_.  
  
His father held open the door in irritation and went to resume his   
conversation with "Mac." Now alone, the visitor looked appraisingly down at the   
young Xanatos.  
  
"Are you David Xanatos?" the dark garbed man asked. The teenager   
could barely see his mouth because his head was hooded in black satin.  
  
He nodded curiously, only one possibility entering his mind. "Yes.   
Did...Zachary Bailey send you?"  
  
The visitor didn't answer; instead, he pulled out a small manila   
envelope from the recesses of his dark...trench coat? He thrust it into   
David's hands and sighed. "My work is done. I recommend you heed its   
directions. You are a very smart boy, very smart."  
  
David wanted to check with his father, to see if it was safe to take  
a package from such a stranger, but the old man had shown Mac out and was  
sitting dejectedly in his reclining chair with a can of beer.  
  
With hesitation, David accepted the envelope. "Now maybe you could   
tell me who you are?" he suggested.  
  
The man just smiled and bowed, two hands folded about his chest, and  
walked away. David held the door open long enough to see the guy disappear  
into a black Sedan, then he shut the screen.  
  
David climbed the stairs to his room and collapsed at his desk. Teasing   
the flap of the envelope open, he pulled out a yellowed parchment. A   
yellowed _letter_.  
  
'David: This may seem a little odd to a sixteen year-old fisherman's   
son, I'm sure, but I know you have the mind to comprehend this. You are  
destined for great things. First, though, unfold the paper...'  
  
David did, and a metallic object wrapped in a dingy handkerchief fell  
onto his desk with a clunk. Stitched into the ancient cloth was a pyramid   
donned with an eye, and inside the handkerchief...David gasped and reconsulted  
the letter.  
  
'That tenth century coin you hold in your hands is worth 20,000   
dollars, when sold to the right buyers. Do not accept anything less.'  
  
And that was the end of the letter.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Manhattan, Present Day  
  
Hudson flung the two muggers together in a firm bond and left them  
hitched to the lamppost. One grumbled something incoherently, while the   
other tried to forget that he had wet his pants. The couple which Hudson   
had saved were gone.  
  
He scaled the grocery store, tail flicking nervously. His stiff  
talons and wingfingers ached in protest at the work. He was getting old.  
  
The air was cool, but smelled of the promise of the impending spring.   
He inhaled deeply of it while he winged his way past the spires of Manhattan.   
So much different than his time; back in the tenth century, there was only   
one prominent building. Here, there were thousands, and each of those housed  
hundreds of nervous humans.   
  
Now more than ever he found his mind wandering back to the days of   
him and his mate. In the days when they, as gargoyles, were trusted; maybe   
not _accepted_, but _trusted_. Today there was none of that. A city full  
of angry, hating humans with only a few allies scattered here and there.  
Things had changed. His fingers shot out into pain again, and he flexed   
his talons to try to rid them of it.  
  
Before he could reminisce, however, movement on one of the rooftops  
caught his attention. A small, dwarfed figure had come up through one of   
the skylights of a museum with a suspiciously large armful of goods. Hudson  
angled down to the rooftop and precariously settled himself out of sight.   
He watched the odd little man curiously.  
  
"No, not this one, not that one either," it was saying, bringing what  
looked like little gold coins to his teeth and biting down hard on them.   
The ones he seemed to reject (which was odd to Hudson, because most humans   
prized all forms of money) landed in a small pile with particularly large   
_fang_ marks left in them.   
  
Hudson inhaled briefly. He took another glimpse at the green-hued  
skin and the Irish clothing, the odd features of the other man's face, the  
pointed ears hidden beneath a derby hat, the sharp fangs, and remembered stories  
from his hatchling days. Without having ever personally met one before, he   
knew what he was dealing with, and drew his sword.  
  
Something golden flickered around the gargoyle's body. Hudson   
swatted at it in annoyance, but when it increased in size, shape, and girth,   
and materialized into something solid, he paused. An extremely large,   
Avalonian owl perched on his shoulder, tipped its head, and screeched.  
  
The little green man's ears perked up at the sound. Hudson swatted  
again at the owl and turned to see if the little sprite had heard, but it  
had disappeared.  
  
"Looking for me?" Something inquired behind him with a voice  
comparable to the owl's screech.  
  
Hudson spun and took a battle stance. Sword drawn, he found  
it awkward that he had to be defensive around such a small creature. "What   
are ye doin', sneakin' around this building?" he asked warily.   
  
The owl jumped off Hudson's shoulder and found a better perch on the   
dwarf's hat. "I'm sight seeing, me lad. I heard about this land o'   
wonders and thought a trip would be necessary." The creature winked at him,   
floating a little over an inch above the rooftop.  
  
"Don't play the fool with me, leprechaun," Hudson growled. He pointed   
the tip of his sword at the coins strewn angrily upon the ground. "I think   
it's quite obvious what ye came here for. And I don't intend to let you   
steal the property of me city just for an addition te youir collection."  
  
The little fey just stroked his owl, who nestled protectively against   
its master. "Good shot, but clean miss!" he howled. "I've no need for these mere  
mortal trinkets."  
  
Hudson took a step forward, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Aye? Then  
what _do_ ye be here for, earthly elf?"  
  
The green-clad nymph smiled, an aura of pine flashing while he zoomed  
around Hudson. "The name's Mider, a spirit of the earth _and_ air. And   
ye'd be...?"  
  
"Hudson."  
  
"Well, Hudson, personally I don't think it's any of youir business   
what I'm here for." He reclined in a suspended position right above the old  
gargoyle's head and tugged at one of the wing claws. "Scottish, ye must be."  
  
"Aye, but..."  
  
"Well, I must say I detest the Scottish. But _I'd_ be willing te forget  
old hatreds and go me separate way if _ye'd_ just forget youir obligation te   
thwart me."  
  
Hudson's fangs did all the talking. "I gargoyle can nae be bought off,"   
he said, walking closer with the intent to apprehend.  
  
"Then ye've left me no choice, meddler, than te _knock_ ye off!"   
Mider laughed. The skin of his fingers went from a smooth, clean, healthy  
green to a gnarled mess of hair and gray wrinkles as a bolt of green burst   
forth from the tips. The energy purposely struck just shy of Hudson, but  
brought up a growth of plants from beneath the cement.   
  
Hudson growled and cut through the offending vines with his sword.   
"Ye little dark one! Ye won't be gone so easily!" He jumped at the sprite,   
but with a blink from the leprechaun Hudson ended up tackling air.   
  
Mider popped back into existence, his pet owl reduced to that annoying  
little flame again. He threw his head back in laughter, the flame/owl spinning  
around Hudson like a dizzying tornado. Mider propelled into the air. "Gargoyles  
are no match for me!"  
  
The flame-entity broke free of Hudson and morphed back into the   
owl. Landing back on Mider's shoulder, it squawked something into his ears   
that moved the leprechaun's haggard features to glee. "Are ye sure?" he  
asked the bird. It nodded.  
  
Hudson had almost been able to sneak up on the child of Oberon, but   
the clever elf had known of the gargoyle's approach and smiled. "Ah, my   
Hudson, at first I thought ye were just another meddler, but if what Orion   
here says is true..." his head tipped back. "...Then the youir scent indicates  
that me treasure is located in the same place as youir roost!"  
  
Hudson struggled against the conflicting wind currents, and his eyes  
glowed. "Ye'll have a grand time finding me roost," he managed, motioning to  
the array of buildings.  
  
Mider laughed, licking his peppermint lips. Greenish-glowing plant  
twines grew from his fingertips and with a few gestures he had woven them into  
a magical net. With only seconds before Hudson was upon him, he threw down   
the net with great force, and it trapped Hudson in mid-air suspension. Mider  
floated over and grew sharp claws, using those to gouge a chunk of the gargoyle's  
skin. He sniffed at it thoughtfully.  
  
"Hey!" Someone shouted close to him, and Mider turned to see a   
fat blue gargoyle coming up fast. "What's going o-"  
  
The leprechaun responded by grabbing a handful of wind from the   
air and launching it down at the blue beast. Broadway was knocked away, unable  
to stop Mider as the green man released Hudson from his suspension  
and sent him plummeting to the earth below.   
  
Mider turned to his owl, produced a vine for a leash, and held Hudson's  
skin up to the bird's keen beak.   
  
"Speedily, now, my pet, and find the scent,  
to the home of the gargoyle where my treasure is lent!"  
  
** * * * * * * *   
  
1980, Boston, Massachusetts  
  
Bailey was at his side, as usual, though with a handkerchief and   
a bottle of his heart medication. He had become the father David could   
admire, unlike Petros, who had disowned him as soon as he had heard about   
his son's future plans. "Flesh-eating medical brokers!" He had cursed   
Bailey and his biochemistry associates. "And now you're his lab rat!"  
  
David had come to the point where he could just laugh off his father's  
disappointment. They would never see eye to eye. No, he had bigger things  
to worry about than his father's accusation that he had never worked for a   
living.  
  
Instead he was waiting eagerly to see how much the mysterious coin  
would go for, and although the letter had indicated he'd get the full   
twenty thousand, he was doubtful that the appraisers would really give   
that much to a youth like himself.  
  
"How long is this going to take?" All heads at the massive mahogany  
table turned to regard a glasses-wearing, sickly little blond next to   
Zachary. Once they figured out it was Lingstrum Bailey, 'Big' Bailey's   
little second cousin, they rolled their eyes and returned to work.   
  
Papers shuffled nervously and finally the private discussion from the  
opposite end of the table ebbed. Everyone returned to their stoic positions,  
folded their hands, and an old museum-ish figure stood up. David's hands   
tightened as he knew Bailey's must have been. The old man had high hopes  
that an acquired fortune for David would drive him over to Genu-Biotics's side,   
so that Bailey wouldn't die leaving his fool-headed partner Renard in   
charge.  
  
"We, being the counsel of officials representing the elsewhere engaged  
third parties of Mr. Malone and Mr. Chambers, would like to announce on their  
behalf the decision concerning the aforementioned artifact of interest. It   
is with their mutual agreement that we award the members of the first party  
the item's full worth: twenty thousand dollars. The check and the   
contracts, sirs."  
  
The counsel of Malone and Chambers dispersed quickly, betraying   
no emotions over the whole session. David shook each of their hands on the   
way out, handing the head his release contract. And when they were all gone,  
he and Bailey laughed, clapping each other on the back.  
  
"I told you those bastards would give you every dime of our demands!"  
he wheezed, spitting up into his handkerchief.   
  
David looked away and instead urged them downstairs to the limo. "Yes,  
I suppose I read them like a clock..." he started. His coolness over   
financial matters had been achieved through careful grooming, and he had  
learned to control his anger.  
  
Once in the stretch limousine, David reclined in the middle, Zachary  
next to him and Lingstrum hunched over across from him. "Well, I hope ya'll  
are happy after how long that 'ne took," the Texan wheezed, his accent almost  
lost in his miserable cold.   
  
Xanatos scowled and chose to ignore him, but Lingstrum's cousin  
didn't take that route. "You'll be thanking me one day, boy," he scolded,  
waving his fist full of medication. He took out his handkerchief, using   
it to pat his sweat-covered face. "You're going to help David here run   
Genu-Biotics under his and Halcyon's direction. I'm sending you to MIT so that  
one day Renard won't be needed there at all!" He coughed and wheezed again,  
rubbing the base of his throat.  
  
* * * * * * * *   
  
Manhattan, Present Day  
  
Hudson was a might surprised at how slow the fall was in coming.   
Of course, being a gargoyle, he was always used to having the time to pull  
up out of a dive, but having his wings pinned like this was certainly making  
things hairy.  
  
His sword had fallen away a few hundred feet ago, and the only  
things between him and the pavement were a few meager buildings.   
  
And then, unexpectedly, one of the vines of the makeshift net snagged  
on one of the buildings' banner posts. The whole trap lurched to a stop and  
swayed, about a hundred feet from where death would have met him.  
  
"Perhaps this city _is_ good fer a thing or two," he grumbled. Throwing   
his weight against the far side of the net, he swung close enough to the   
skyscraper's side to get a good hold.   
  
Looking up, he saw the dark leprechaun flash away in the direction of  
the Eyrie Building, and growled. At Mider's departure, the net that  
had ensnared the elderly gargoyle disintegrated into a fine, sparkly-green dust.  
  
Hudson swung himself over the edge of the roof and squatted on his knees.  
The old soldier rubbed his palms with a grimace, then watched Broadway land   
beside him. The young one turned and handed over a scorched-looking sword.   
  
"Dropped this, Hudson," he said. The aquamarine adolescent glanced  
toward the Eyrie. "When you went ahead of us to chase those muggers, I   
wasn't picturing anything like this."  
  
Hudson stood up, stretching the last of his sore ligaments. "Neither  
was I lad," he replied, taking to the air. "And neither did I _hope_ to.   
That dark one is heading for the Castle!"  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
They flashed into a room, large and quite ritzy, with bookshelves and  
a desk, and lamps and antiquities and modern human gadgets. The chamber was  
dimly lit, so the shadows of huge tapestries and the towering presence of an ancient   
suit of armor were emphasized. Mider rubbed his eyes, looking around until   
he found Orion perched on the top of one of the bookcases.  
  
"Get down here, ye stupid fool," he whispered. He tried to swat  
his mythical companion down with a sweep of self-grown vines, but Orion   
just ducked them.  
  
A door creaked and sounds flooded in from the other room. Mider froze.  
His sharp ears strained out for any sounds of alarm.  
  
A murmur, some deep sighs, and a pause. Then, a bed creaked with  
lost weight.   
  
"We should probably break this off. Alex is due in a few minutes and  
I have a meeting in three hours."  
  
"Sometimes, David, I wonder if I should just make an appointment with  
you like your other clients. Then maybe we'd get things done." A feminine  
voice, rueful.  
  
"Hmmm...I do have an opening for a nooner. Could I pencil you in?"  
  
Blacckk! Mider thought. Human romance. And here he was, caught up   
in this mysterious who-knows where, having to listen to the telltale sounds  
of mortal lust.   
  
His stomach twinged, and he suddenly remembered why he had come  
here, anyway. And in the dim light he hadn't noticed just how subtly  
his gnarled/youthful hands were glowing green until he actually looked down   
at them. His fingers pulsed with an anxious energy that made every red  
hair on his body stand up on end and sizzle with potential magic.   
  
Mider faced the bookshelf and the energy increased tenfold. Orion's  
now-owl head bobbed up and down smugly, as if to say, "I told you so." The  
gray bird launched from its roost and zipped frantically back and forth along   
the second shelf of novels.  
  
Mider was at it in a hurry, flickering hands tearing the books from   
their places. Totally heedless of the humans in the other room, he inspected  
every novel until he found only one remaining. Smiling, he read the title,  
feeling the great, taunting beat of power emanating from within.  
  
"'The Gold Coast,'" he read from the binding, and laughed with   
unrelenting glee. "Humans are so flaunting, Orion!"  
  
A blast of red burst out of nowhere and the book Mider had been   
holding fluttered away in a mess of flaming paper. He had just enough time  
to see the glint of his golden coin from beneath the smoking remains  
when another blast shot him up against the wall.  
  
"Two times in one night!" he cried as he tried to catch a glimpse  
of his assailants.  
  
A dark-haired human, Grecian, no doubt, stood in the doorway arrogantly  
holding a laser canon. Mider growled at the ignorance of such an attack.   
Orion took the opportunity to morph into a very ferocious gray wolf, whose   
weight as imposed on the bookshelf caused it to topple in the direction of   
the arrogant mortal.  
  
The human, recognizable as one David Xanatos, did a back flip to  
avoid both wolf and falling bookshelf. Mider saw a blur of a redheaded woman  
go to aid the human, even as the leprechaun jumped to fetch his rightful   
property.  
  
Clatter! One of those huge bodies of armor came crashing down on  
top of him when he was within just one arm's length of the coin. He sucked  
in a quick breath, the armor being partially iron and all, and looked up to see that  
nosy gargoyle Hudson and two others of his kind standing above him. Mider   
uttered a quick cry of protest as Hudson bent down and retrieved the golden  
token.   
  
"You were right, Hudson," the lavender one noted. He crossed his arms  
in a way that proved he had dealt with Mider's kind before. "He did come  
for one of Xanatos's coins."  
  
Mider deflatingly watched the hypertensive green glow around his coin   
fade in the hands of that inexperienced gargoyle. "You fools!" He muttered,  
writhing. "I was so close! Give me my property, you have no need for it!"  
  
Hudson scowled. "Aye, and you do?"  
  
Orion was still snapping at Xanatos, Oberon bless him, but a greenish  
runt of a gargoyle had him by his tail. "Tell me," the billionaire started.  
"If this is a leprechaun, do I get a wish for catching him?"  
  
"What are we going to do with him?" The green one asked.  
  
Mider had enough of this. "Absolutely nothing!" he screeched. His  
eyes went as bright as green headlights as he concentrated all his earthly  
power into his hands and sent the load of iron armor towards Xanatos and  
his paramour. Standing up to face three battle-ready gargoyles, he put   
his fingers to his lips and whistled, "Orion!!"  
  
The wolf melted out of the green gargoyle's grasp and into his neat  
little flame state. It followed its master as Mider zipped out the window.  
  
Goliath stood, trying to peel the armor off of Fox, then watched  
as Xanatos started after Mider. "Let him go," he advised.  
  
Xanatos shook his head. "As far as I can see, Goliath, that   
leprechaun is not going to settle for second best. I don't think I can  
risk letting him make another disturbance in my household when Alex may be  
around." He exchanged a glance with the three gargoyles in the room.   
"All I ask is that you get my coin from him and hold him until I can  
meet up with you. A wish from a leprechaun could prove quite useful."  
  
Goliath hesitated and then nodded. He directed Lexington, Hudson,  
and himself out of the small window and Xanatos went after his armor.  
  
****************************************************************************  
****************************************************************************  
  
1702, in the Mediterranean  
  
"This is mutiny!" he screamed. The two officers that had hold of his  
arms just grunted and tossed him in the cabin. The captain landed in a   
puddle of salt water and meat runoff, trying to scramble to his feet as  
they locked the door. He slammed against it, trying to beat it open with  
his fists, but to no avail.  
  
The two mutineers laughed at the sounds ex-Captain Burke was making   
and settled themselves at the table on deck. They and the five others, including  
the first and second mates, regarded the load of money that lay in front of   
them. The Now-Captain began divvying up the loot.  
  
"I say we trade the slaves to Spain for twice the price! We've no   
contract with England now that Burke's...detained!" The first mate suggested  
fiendishly.  
  
"Yes, yes, we'll get to that soon enough. Let's just see how much--"  
  
"--ARRGHH!"  
  
The crew bounded to their feet as their lookout came rolling down the  
port stairs. His head was bleeding profusely.  
  
Second mate ran to his side, trying to tip up his face. "What...what  
happened?"  
  
Lookout raised a shaky finger to the sea, gurgled, and passed out.  
  
The boat shook as something boarded it, from perhaps some ghost of  
a vessel. The seven crew members looked up in terror as a serpentine, ocean-like  
beast slithered down the port stairs. A short green man was mounted on the  
serpent.  
  
First mate drew his sword and went after the serpent and man, howling.  
He brandished it madly. "It's a sea monster, to take our treasure!"   
  
Seconds before the sword would have torn the serpent, the creature   
changed from greenish-grey, to something fiery, and finally to a mass of   
ashen feathers. The now-owl perched on the mainsail and looked down upon   
the unfortunate sailors.  
  
The green dwarf smiled at First Mate's surprise. Using it as a   
distraction, he raised one hand and blasted the lead crew-member against   
the post of the main sail. Then, with a rather hungry expression, the   
elf approached the table with the gold on it, tearing through the group of   
defenders all too easily.  
  
*   
  
Burke didn't know how long he had been down there. It was dark and   
damp, and the ship had been lolling for what felt like hours. No sounds  
came down from the deck.  
  
He hugged his knees. "If I ever get my hands on a good cannon..." he  
breathed.  
  
The ship lurched and bucked and Burke went flying into the door. It  
may have been the force of his blow, or it may have been the fact that he'd  
been working on taking it down for hours, but this time the postern broke  
open. The captain found himself at the base of the stairs.  
  
The first thing he noticed was the smell of smoke as he wearily scaled   
the steps. Keeping his dagger close at hand, he threw open the hatch that  
separated the below decks from the above decks, and...laughed.  
  
Three of his men were in an unconscious pile, darkened with green   
burnt marks. The other four were bound to the mainmast with what looked like  
very uncomfortable, thorny vines. The slaves, undoubtedly having found some  
way to free themselves in their masters' absences, were poking at the sailors'  
and the ship's items.   
  
Burke kneeled down next to his second mate, who was quite out cold, and   
pulled away his pistol. He fired it and the slaves quickly scurried   
back to their chambers. Looking over to where a pile of coins were strewn,   
he determined that only two were missing.   
  
The disgruntled, tied, and embarrassed sailors regarded him. He laughed.  
"I'll be back in an hour. I haven't had dinner in a while, you know!"  
  
They cursed and spat and turned red, but he didn't care. Heading down  
to the below cabins to tend to the loose slaves and have some salted beef,  
he first checked the drawer of his secretary. The envelope was still there,  
under lock and key. Good; whoever had looted the vessel hadn't found it.  
  
Burke admired the insignia of the pyramid and eye, which matched the   
patch woven underneath his collar. Yes, his contact in England would give  
quite the price for this.   
  
****************************************************************************  
****************************************************************************  
  
Manhattan, Present Day  
  
"Goliath, I don't see why we're doing Xanatos's dirty work for him,"  
Lexington noted, dipping in an air current.   
  
The big gargoyle sighed. "After the attack at the castle by Taro and   
his associates, we cannot risk another one, especially by an elf. But as soon  
as the threat is dealt with, I will leave Xanatos to catch his own wishes."  
  
"Aye," Hudson agreed. "I will not be a part of that."  
  
"I think I see him!" Lexington cried out, pointing straight ahead.  
There Mider was, with Orion swirling about him, coasting around the tall  
buildings of New York.  
  
Lexington and Goliath streamlined for an attack, but Hudson put  
out his hand. "Wait, lads. He's going slow deliberately. He would have   
disappeared had he not expected us to follow."  
  
"Aww, Hudson, don't be...YIKES!"  
  
A huge spray of magically-engineered thorns came at the gargoyles.  
They abraded their leathery skin in a wash of minute irritation, and in the  
next moment it was followed by a shockwave of electrically green air.  
Goliath exchanged a nod with Hudson and turned to the left to intercept   
Mider at a future point.  
  
Lexington tightened the formation with the eldest gargoyle, just  
as Mider dipped low into a fogbank. The two gargoyles followed the trail  
of green dust he left behind.  
  
"Lad," Hudson yelled over the rush of air. "I sure hope ye got  
youir contest finished!"  
  
Lexington dodged by sharpened tree branches, which the elf had just  
started throwing back. "Uh, yeah, no problem. Thanks for taking over my   
patrol."  
  
"Nae that it did too much good...almost got him..." the gray-brown  
gargoyle quickly caught up to the leprechaun as they pulled up, reaching out  
one clawed hand to grab his ankle...  
  
A mass of feathers and fairy flame clawed at his hands. Orion, that  
devil-blessed bird, had come to the defense of its master and was raking  
around him with quite an intense fury.   
  
"Lad!" Hudson yelled.  
  
Orion, latched thoroughly onto the gargoyle's ears, made a horrible   
screeching sound as Lexington collided with him. The two went tumbling across  
the skies like a slingshot, and proved a great distraction for that annoying  
bird.  
  
Heedless of what was going on behind him, Mider went into a steep   
dive towards the streets. Hudson followed him as fast and as far as he dared,  
but when the slippery little fey disappeared into an open man hole, the   
older gargoyle slowed his pace and landed softly next to the grate.   
  
He heard splashing receding into the depths of the sewers. Hudson  
knew the little sprite wanted him to follow, because he had the coin. Without  
waiting for Lexington or Goliath (where ever the blast that one was), Hudson  
jumped into the tunnels. He was going to put a stop to this once and for all.  
  
***************************************************************************  
***************************************************************************  
  
Manhattan, Museum of Natural History, 1993  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, it's not for sale..." the brown-haired teenager   
protested, although the pale, business-suited man had thrust a loaded check  
into his face. He was loathing to turn it away, but, "I'm sorry, but none  
of this is for sale. There's a gift shop down the--"  
  
"You misunderstood me. Mr. Xanatos is _very_ interested in that coin.  
He has no need for cheap souvenirs." The pale man tore up the old check   
and wrote a new one, with bigger numbers that almost made Vinnie choke. "He  
is willing to give you five times its worth."  
  
"I...I...I'm sorry sir, I'm just the guide. I can't take the money."  
  
The pale man stood back up to his full height and crinkled his nose  
in a very frustrated manner. "Then I suggest you get the manager."  
  
Vinnie did, retreating down the hall. There was a chuckle from one  
of the corridors, and a tall man stepped out from the shadows. "Good show,  
Owen. You're just wonderful with children."  
  
"Mr. Xanatos. I thought you were going to stay in the limousine,"   
Owen Burnett replied. He walked up to stand beside his employer.   
  
"I couldn't let you make the transaction and have all this fun to   
yourself--"  
  
"--I cannot help it, sir, if some of the employees here are a bit  
uneducated--"  
  
"--And, besides, I wanted to see my merchandise before I buy it."  
Xanatos strolled up to the Hidden Treasures display, just erected last year.  
He stooped down in front of the glass and unfolded a newspaper clipping from  
his pocket.   
  
It read: "Mobster Mace Malone's Will Bequeaths Munificent Contribution  
to Museum: Just Plain Generosity or Liquidation of Hot Assets?" On the  
cover was a picture shot of a satchel of ancient coins, and on the caption:  
"Mace Malone, once a mobster in arms with Dominic Dracon, died in 1984 at the  
age of 87, but his will was just found one month ago. Here shown are just  
the few items belonging to the lode."  
  
Xanatos skipped skimming over the part that described how Mace Malone's  
body was never actually found, how he had been declared dead because he   
had been missing for so long. Instead, Xanatos concentrated on the coin in the   
display with the date 975 pasted next to it. It almost looked an eerie   
shade of green, probably due to the lighting, but he'd recognize it anywhere.   
"This is it, Owen, this is what made me what I am today. These papers had  
no idea that Malone was the buyer."  
  
"Sir, perhaps you ought to give more credit to yourself," Owen  
offered, coming up to him.  
  
"Granted, I did use the money from this coin wisely enough to be this  
rich, but I should still give the credit to the mysterious person who  
decided to send me it." The bordering-on-being-a-multibillionaire Grecian  
tapped the glass and stood up straight. Maybe, he thought secondarily,   
Zachary Bailey should get some credit. Even though he had not been the one  
to give it to David, Petros believed he was. It was just too bad that poor  
Zachary had died of that heart attack. "That settles it, Owen. I must   
have it. It is the one most important reminder of my efforts."  
  
A dusty old man came down the hall, scolding the little tour guide  
Owen had been dealing with earlier. A moment later, poor Vinnie had stripped  
of his uniform and was out the door.  
  
"Mr. Xanatos, I must say, honoring your first-earned coin is incredibly   
cliche," Owen whispered, in a last attempt to make his master change his mind.   
  
"All the more reason. Now, here comes the manager. And, Owen?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Xanatos?"  
  
"Go hunt down that little tour guide. I think I could dig up a new   
job for him. I'm feeling...generous today."  
  
"Indeed, Mr. Xanatos." Owen Burnett stepped stiffly after the child,  
and when he was well away from where his employer was wrapping up the deal,   
he mumbled, "For all the iron and gold inherent in that trinket, I do hope   
you appreciate it."  
  
****************************************************************************  
****************************************************************************  
  
Manhattan, Present Day  
  
Hudson could hear the splashing footfalls of the fey ahead of him,  
slow and deliberate. The coin in his pouch was warm with magic emanation,  
but he pursued the dark one, anyhow. He did, however, recall wondering why  
Mider was on foot rather than floating on the air.  
  
Abruptly the sounds silenced, and Hudson flattened himself   
against a far wall. It was dark enough for even his eyes, despite the   
meager rays of light that filtered down from the grates above his head. He   
took a deep breath before he slipped into the tunnel where Mider had been last.  
  
A glow burst from the depths of the tunnel and before Hudson knew  
what was happening, he was being attacked by a large mass of sludgy algae.  
It wrapped about him in an effort to drag him towards Mider's lair. Hudson  
fell on his back, half submerged in water, his sword lying just out of   
reach. He growled at the cocoon of aquatic plant forming about him.  
  
Mider himself soon came zipping into the room on a cushion of air.  
"Will ye give me my property, now, gargoyle? Or do I need to employ the   
act of torture?"  
  
Hudson growled as the algae-mass tightened its grip and the leprechaun  
let loose another bolt of green energy. Like last time, it struck just shy  
of the gargoyle, but unlike last time it was not on purpose. Mider suddenly   
sagged in the air and the algae slipped momentarily loose. Hudson took   
advantage of the lapse and thrust the aquatic plant off of him like carpet.   
He retrieved his sword just as Mider revived.  
  
Hudson pulled the coin out of his pouch and held it up towards Mider.  
"Is this what ye be wantin'?" He husked, walking closer. "Well, then, come  
and get it."  
  
Mider gathered all the energy he could from the air and threw it at  
the gargoyle. "Give me what is rightfully mine!" he demanded.  
  
Hudson held his hands up in front of him in protection but it was  
the coin that ended up deflecting the blow. It cast Mider's magic back at   
him three-fold in strength, and the little green elf screamed in agony. He  
slumped against the far wall. The smell of slightly burnt flesh was hot in  
the air.  
  
The leprechaun wiped a greenish blood from his lips. "Orion, aid   
your master..." he croaked. He mentally commanded the algae to make a   
last ditch attempt to steal the coin from Hudson, but the plant life merely  
craned forward and then fell limp.   
  
Hudson narrowed his eyes and relaxed from his crouched position.   
"_Youir_ friend has been detained by _my_ friend. It's over, leprechaun."  
  
Mider shied back as the older gargoyle came forward and grabbed the  
elfin by his arms. "Ye've caught me then," he breathed. "I suppose ye'll  
be wanting youir wish, and me whole crock of gold. All these centuries' work,  
gone."  
  
Hudson looked at the coin in his hands, which frantically beat with  
some magical rhythm. He shook his head, and Mider's features paled even   
further. "Youir gold? A gargoyle has no need for human money. And neither  
should ye." He looked at the leprechaun's bleeding chin. "And I thought  
Oberon's Children could nae get hurt, either."  
  
Mider looked in the other direction and chuckled. "It is far, far  
more complicated than that, Hudson."  
  
"I'll wait for an explanation for all youir trickery, then."  
  
"Very well." Mider turned back towards his captor. "Picture the setting,  
not too long after the dawn of time and the creation of Oberon, his weaker   
'brother' Zeus, Titania, and Chaos. Oberon and Titania paired. They had   
many children, most of them the most famous deities. But Chaos, the dark   
one that she was, was not content with Zeus, for their children were lesser   
gods. So she seduced and raped the mighty Oberon.  
  
"He cursed her te the depths of netherness forever after that, but  
not until she spawned hundreds of his illegitimate children. Leprechauns,   
dark elves, trolls, ogres. Me kin rivaled the true children of Oberon   
in goodness and power. But we were still of the earth, air, and darkness,   
and thus were ridiculed. To keep us away from Avalon and Oberon we were   
given sidhes. Mine became dubbed as the underworld.  
  
"We were very unpopular with ouir half-siblings, especially Banshee.   
Disgusted, she cursed us. She had noted ouir weakness te gold (from our   
mother's side) and te iron (from Oberon's). With a spell stolen from the   
court of Zeus, she set aside fourteen gold coins for each leprechaun, fortified   
them with iron, and trapped ouir magical essences in them. Then she cast   
them away in crocks across Ireland and Britain. We were stripped te mortals,   
and cursed te die as mortals unless we could retrieve ouir coins.  
  
"Only a few of me kin ever succeeded in finding the pieces of their  
souls, end even they could ne'er find the final coins. I learned how te   
space apart me discoveries, te live off me finds for the longest possible time.   
I found my thirteenth coin one hundred years ago."  
  
Hudson looked down at the money in his hand. "And this is youir last  
one. Without it--"  
  
"--I'll just decay." Mider enveloped himself in green, and when it   
vanished, his young features were gone and replaced with haggard skin and   
saggy wrinkles. "The last of my powers I put te stopping the rotting of me  
body, and without their employ, this is what I really am."  
  
Hudson drew away, repulsed. "Why did ye not tell me this in the   
first place, lad? Instead of attacking, like ye did?"  
  
"O'er the centuries, I discovered it was more effective te act first and  
talk later. I don't have time te deal with interlopers." Mider squinted one   
yellowed eye at Hudson. "And was I so wrong? Ye had a bias towards   
leprechauns, I could tell. And youir friend Xanatos has _great_ plans for me."  
  
Hudson released his hold on Mider, but still kept a wary eye on him.  
"When I was but a wee lad, a leprechaun and his band of followers, looking for  
gold, attacked a hunting party. The humans were unharmed, because of Oberon's  
law, but five of my elders were killed."  
  
"Me kin were desperate. There have been many battles. I can only   
say that it t'wasn't me."  
  
Hudson flipped the coin in the air, and Mider watched it arc and   
glint with an almost hungry look in his eyes. Hudson caught it back,   
contemplated it for one last time, and said, "But what is done, is done. My   
clan is long dead. It should not be a reason for another te suffer."  
He opened Mider's hands and placed the gold trinket inside them.  
  
A green mist coalesced around Mider and his tender, capturing the  
elf in a silhouette of glowing green. He screamed in pain from the touch of  
the pain from the gold and iron, but grew slowly healthier. Then, as quickly   
as it had come, the phenomenon disappeared, and the remaining disc of gold  
and iron clattered to the ground. A now-healthy Mider blinked it away.  
  
Mider examined his youthful hand from palm to fingertips, then sprayed  
magic across the room in a juvenile display of glee. Craggy features   
remained, but his reddish hair was more vibrant and his eyes brighter.  
When he had finally finished, he floated up in front of Hudson.   
  
"You could have had a wish, or chosen to destroy me with the metals  
present in that coin. And yet ye didn't. Mortals are such curious entities!"  
  
"Ye should know--ye've been mortal enough these past years," Hudson  
replied dryly. "But I see youir back te youir elfish self."  
  
Mider spun on one toe. "Indeed-a-roonie! Now, all I need is my   
faithful sidekick Orion and then I can return to Avalon."  
  
Correspondingly, Lexington suddenly splashed down the tunnel and  
into the room with a bundle in his arms. Upon closer inspection, the bundle  
jostled and bulged as whatever was inside it tried to get back out.  
  
"I got it, Hudson, have you found the..." the little webwing looked  
up and gaped. "Uh, never mind."  
  
"Lad, please open the bag," Hudson asked.  
  
"But, I thought..."  
  
"Lad," Hudson said more sternly.  
  
Lexington nodded and released Orion, who, in a tumult of gray feathers,  
burst out and flew circles around his long-missed master. Mider laughed.  
"I guess I'll be going, me laddies! I've got a bone to pick with a certain  
Banshee." He stooped lower and whispered to Hudson. "Getting old in this  
century has its rewards, old soldier. Don't forget that. And _don't_ think   
this makes us friends."  
  
With the help of a green whirlwind, Mider went rocketing off   
toward Avalon. Hudson turned to Lex. "Let's get out of here, lad. This  
city has its good points," he sniffed the air and crinkled his nose, "But   
this surely isn't one of them."  
  
Xanatos met them half way. "What happened to the leprechaun?"  
  
Hudson exchanged a glance with the younger gargoyle. "We...tried te   
stop him, but the lad was a bit too strong. I'm sorry te say he took your  
coin, too."  
  
The multibillionaire inspected his surroundings, and sighed. He   
disengaged the lasers on his exosuit. "Pity, but it was just a piece of gold.  
Nothing I couldn't buy somewhere else."  
  
Hudson and Lexington exchanged glances. Maybe Xanatos had changed.  
  
* * * * *   
  
When the glow faded from Goliath's eyes, he saw the damage that had  
been done. And even though it was he who had been in the right, it was still  
not going to look good on his record.   
  
The big gargoyle looked at the paper in his hands.   
  
He'd been on his way to intercept Mider by foot when he heard  
a scream from a small newspaper stand . Goliath, being his noble self, had   
gone to help, and found some fool trying to hold up the stand with a laser   
gun. In defense, Goliath had knocked the burglar away, but not before the   
gun went off and set fire to the whole stand. In shock, he'd let the   
burglar escape, and watched as the owner grabbed a flyer from a pile on   
his booth and run off.   
  
Without thinking, Goliath himself had grabbed one of those same   
flyers and patted the fire out, but not before the whole establishment was  
blackened. He'd then scaled the nearest building to wait out the repercussions,  
and look at the brochure.  
  
The big gargoyle looked at the paper in his hands.   
  
Blood red print, and a hammer set against three slash marks. A "Q."   
And the simple phrase, "Gargoyle Removal, a necessity for survival. For   
more information, come to this address on the below date."  
  
It crumpled in the gargoyle's hands, and he looked down upon the   
street to see the many copies of this flyer posted on telephone poles,   
store shops, and nearly every other conceivable place. He closed his eyes,  
his mind trying to replace this foreboding feeling with the memories of   
an October morning, back at the castle, and a most wonderful kiss on Elisa's   
part.   
  
But even that was not enough. Not even Elisa had been a comfort   
lately.  
  
***************************************************************************  
  
EPILOGUE:  
  
Avalon, in the merry courts of Oberon  
  
The music came courtesy of Pan, from his magical pipes that seemed  
to have a mind of their own. The Weird Sisters watched their kin dance from  
the sidelines, having been selected by the Queen to watch for trouble. Cupid  
was floating merrily with his brothers and sisters of the air, despite the  
fact that the gathering forbid him to spend time with his mate on New Olympus.  
The rest were drinking and eating and conversing, free from the binds  
of the mortal world.  
  
There was a wrapping on the door, and a gust of wind blew through   
the Great Hall. Oberon snapped his head up from where he had been whispering  
to Titania and stood. Everyone froze at the action.  
  
"Hey, am I late?" an invisible body asked. And, from out of nowhere,  
a small dwarf-like creature materialized from a haze of green.   
  
Titania smirked and watched her husband's reaction. The king looked  
over the visitor from head to toe, over the shabby dark clothes, the flawless  
peppermint skin and lips, the claws, the red, unruly hair, and the flashing  
green eyes, and realized that his bastard son Mider had come to reclaim his  
rightful privilege as a child of Oberon.  
  
"Mider, what intent have you in coming here?" he demanded.  
  
The leprechaun bounced from toe to toe. "I've come te enjoy the   
fruits of me long, long, labor. I think I've earned it."  
  
Oberon cast a glance to Banshee, who was huddling protectively in the  
corner, then to his queen, from whom he waited for approval. She sighed and  
laid a hand on his shoulder. "He may not be of Us, but he is certainly of  
You. If the others agree, I see no reason why he shouldn't reside here."  
  
"Our Queen, are you well aware of the circumstances of that one's   
existence?"  
  
Titania threw her head back. "Really, husband, embarrassment at   
being overcome by a woman more powerful than yourself is no reason to scorn  
him. Besides, I think the mass genocide of his brothers and sisters is   
punishment enough, don't you agree?"  
  
Oberon did not looked moved. "He can stay here on a trial basis,  
only," he announced, and the partygoers slowly returned to their revelry.  
He shooed Mider away.  
  
Mider looked around, not quite sure where to start, but when he saw  
a sickeningly familiar figure trying to escape the party, he suddenly knew   
what to do.   
  
Banshee had almost slipped out of the door when a spray of green   
zipped in front of her. Mider crossed his arms, blocking her exit. "So,  
dear half-sister. We meet again, I see." Her eyes narrowed and she tried  
to mutter a curse. Mider laughed and flicked at the golden muzzle around her   
lips. "Well, well, well. What have ye gotten youirself into now, I must   
wonder?"  
  
She made a muffled sound, trying to rip the brace from her mouth. Her  
feet kicked out, but made no impact.  
  
"Oh, Bean-sidhe, what fun we shall have now that youir precious voice   
is gone!" He laughed, and swirled his fingers through the air. From some  
invisible reservoir, the air opened up and years' worth of iron/gold coins   
spilled out at Banshee's feet. "Ye see," he explained, "The good thing about   
the suffering ye gave me is the fact that I learned how te collect and   
transport these two poisonous metals."  
  
Oberon watched the Banshee flee from the room with Mider in teasing   
pursuit. "I just hope we do not regret our decision," he said, crossing  
his arms, just as Orion landed on his shoulder and began preening his silver   
hair.  
  
****************************************************************************  
  
Manhattan, Unidentified Location, Present Day  
  
"I counted quite a few, JC, but I've got no definite numbers. News is  
a guy on the south side had his newspaper stand burned down and is interested  
in starting an underground." Titus stared out the smooth windows of the   
new apartment complex, which Jon had just purchased. To him, it was going  
a little out of the way, but money was money, and money came from the   
most obsessive of people.  
  
"Fine, fine, just as long as everything's in place." JC said,   
at the table having some Tequila. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Just tell me what you need done next. Then wake me when we're done."  
  
JC ignored him. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us, you know.  
Much to do, so much to convince. Hatred is a very powerful emotion."  
  
"Jon, take it from me, if its hatred you need, there's plenty here  
to go around." He paused. "I sure hope you're ready for this."  
  
"I was weak in the beginning, but no more. Jason will have his  
revenge, through me!" Titus worried that maybe Jon was going to get all   
worked up like his brother used to, but the Tequila quickly calmed him down.  
Jon smiled. "Get the name of that newspaper stand owner. He can help   
demonstrate at our friendly little gathering."  
  
"Noted."  
  
JC stroked his chin. "And I was thinking...I need a name. How does  
'Jon Castaway' sound to you?"  
  
* * * * * * *   
  
THE END  
  
Whaddja think? (wags tail like dog).  
E-mail appreciated, only, however,  
in the form of complements, flames,  
and comments.  
  
Next up (and I promise no   
fairies from holidays):  
  
Goliath and Elisa finally  
talk about the morning after.   
Vigilantism gets down and   
dirty in the streets of   
Manhattan. And a few other   
surprises, to boot.  



End file.
